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The sword and shield of Scottish land

Was valiant Halbert Kerr.

"A warlock loved the warrior well, Sir Michael Scott by name,

And he sought for his sake a spell to make, Should the Southern foemen tame.

Look thou,' he said, 'from Cessford head,
As the July sun sinks low,

And when glimmering white on Cheviot's height
Thou shalt spy a wreath of snow,

The spell is complete which shall bring to thy feet

The haughty Saxon foe.'

"For many a year wrought the wizard here, In Cheviot's bosom low,

Till the spell was complete, and in July's heat
Appear'd December's snow;

But Cessford's Halbert never came
The wondrous cause to know.

"For years before in Bowden aisle

The warrior's bones had lain, And after short while, by female guile, Sir Michael Scott was slain.

"But me and my brethren in this cell

His mighty charms retain,And he that can quell the powerful spell Shall o'er broad Scotland reign."

He led him through an iron door
And up a winding stair,

And in wild amaze did the wanderer gaze
On the sight which open'd there.

Through the gloomy night flash'd ruddy light,-
A thousand torches glow;

The cave rose high, like the vaulted sky,
O'er stalls in double row.

In every stall of that endless hall

Stood a steed in barbing bright;

At the foot of each steed, all arm'd save the head, Lay stretch'd a stalwart knight.

In each mail'd hand was a naked brand; As they lay on the black bull's hide, Each visage stern did upwards turn, With eyeballs fix'd and wide.

A launcegay strong, full twelve ells long, By every warrior hung;

At each pommel there, for battle yare, A Jedwood axe was slung.

The casque hung near each cavalier; The plumes waved mournfully

At every tread which the wanderer made Through the hall of gramarye.

The ruddy beam of the torches' glean That glared the warriors on, Reflected light from armour bright, In noontide splendour shone.

And onward seen in lustre sheen,
Still lengthening on the sight,
Through the boundless hall stood steeds in stall,
And by each lay a sable knight.

Still as the dead lay each horseman dread, And moved nor limb nor tongue;

Each steed stood stiff as an earthfast cliff, Nor hoof nor bridle rung.

No sounds through all the spacious hall
The deadly still divide,

Save where echoes aloof from the vaulted roof
To the wanderer's step replied.

At length before his won lering eyes,
On an iron column borne,

Of antique shape, and giant size,
Appear'd a sword and horn.

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"Now choose thee here," quoth his leader. "Thy venturous fortune try; Thy woe and weal, thy boot and bale, In yon brand and bugle lie."

To the fatal brand he mounted his hand,
But his soul did quiver and quail;
The life-blood did start to his shuddering heart,
And left him wan and pale.

The brand he forsook, and the horn he took
To 'say a gentle sound;

But so wild a blast from the bugle brast,
That the Cheviot rock'd around.

From Forth to Tees, from seas to seas, The awful bugle rung;

On Carlisle wall, and Berwick withal. To arms the warders sprung.

With clank and clang the cavern rang,
The steeds did stamp and neigh;
And loud was the yell as each warrior fell
Sterte up with hoop and cry.

"Woe, woe," they cried, " thou caitiff coward, That ever thou wert born!

Why drew ye not the knightly sword
Before ye blew the horn?"

The morning on the mountain shone, And on the bloody ground

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"The reader may be interested by comparing with this ballad the author's prose version of part of its legend, as given in one of the last works of his pen. He says, in the Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft, 1830:- Thomas of Ercildowne, during his retirement, has been supposed, from time to time, to be levying forces to take the field in some crisis of his country's fate. The story has often been told of a daring horse-jockey having sold a black horse to a man of vcnerable and antique appearance, who appointed the remarkable hillock upon Eildon hills, called the Lucken-hare, as the place where, at twelve o'clock at night, he should receive the price. He came, his money was paid in ancient coin, and he was invited by his customer to view his residence. The trader in horses followed his guide in the deepest astonishment through several long ranges of stalls, in each of which a horse stood motionless, while an armed warrior lay equally still at the charger's fect. All these men,' said the wizard in a whisper, will awaken at the battle of Sheriffmuir.' At the extremity of this extraordinary depot hung a sword and a

horn, which the prophet pointed out to the horse-dealer as containing the means of dissolving the spell. The man in confusion took the horn and attempted to wind it. The horses instantly started in their stalls, stamped, and shook their bridles, the men arose and clashed their armour, and the mortal, terrified at the tumult he had excited, dropped the horn from his hand. A voice like that of a giant, louder even than the tumult around, pronounced these words:

Woe to the coward that ever he was born,

That did not draw the sword before he blew the horn.

A whirlwind expelled the horse-dealer from the cavern, the entrance to which he could never again find. A moral might be perhaps extracted from the lege: d, namely, that it is better to be armed against danger before bidding it defiance."

2 This celebrated horn is still in the possession of the chief of the Harden family, Lord Polwarth.

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But the leal-fast heart her breast within It weel was worth them a'.

Her father's pranked her sisters twa
With meikle joy and pride;

But Margaret maun seek Dundrennan'a wa'-
She ne'er can be a bride.

On spear and casque by gallants gent
Her sisters' scarfs were borne,

But never at tilt or tournament
Were Margaret's colours worn.

Her sisters rode to Thirlstane bower,
But she was left at hame
To wander round the gloomy tower,
And sigh young Harden's name.

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